


See you at dinner

by mpoumpouka



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, various oc's - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:26:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpoumpouka/pseuds/mpoumpouka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With brick walls, a pointy rooftop and the ever so neat patch of grass at the front, the Boothroyd’s family home was the epitome of the typical British suburban house. Nothing about it had ever stood out from the rest of the buildings in their quiet neighborhood. And with the exception of Q, the same could be said of all its inhabitants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family dinner

 

**Chapter 1 : Family dinner**

 

Q’s eyelids felt heavy with sleepiness as he gathered his bag and got up from his seat. The train had almost slowed down to a standstill and already the other passengers where milling in the poorly lit hallway, eager to get off and on to wherever they were heading.

In Q’s case, that would be his home.

Home.

 Despite his half-asleep state Q couldn’t suppress a chuckle of mirth at the thought of his MI6 colleagues –or even better, his Q branch minions- ever seeing where their oh-so-enigmatic-young-genius of a quartermaster lived.

With brick walls, pointy rooftop and the ever so neat patch of grass at the front, the Boothroyd’s family home was the epitome of the typical British suburban house. Nothing about it had ever stood out from the rest of the buildings in their quiet neighborhood. And with the exception of Q, the same could be said of all its inhabitants.

Marge and Leonard Boothroyd were the sort of people others would like the moment they met them. They were friendly and welcoming with their neighbors –their monthly back-yard barbeques were proof of that-, as well as hardworking and dedicated to their respective jobs –Leonard was an accountant whereas Marge a schoolteacher . Above all else they were –as parents often are- extremely proud of their offspring.

Turning at a rather dark corner, Q finally made it to the house’s entrance. He fumbled with his folder bag a bit, trying to find his keys, when the door opened widely, the bright light coming from inside momentarily blinding his vision.

“Oh, it’s just _you,_ ” an obnoxious, albeit familiar female voice stated.

Right. Tonight was George’s big ‘family dinner’ night.

He pushed through the annoyed blond that was half blocking the doorway and set his things down.

Delilah Thomson was one of the most self-absorbed, pretentious women Q ever had the misfortune of knowing. Even more unfortunately for Q, she was engaged to be married to his older brother, George.

Hurray.

“Hello to you too, Delilah. Nice to see you. How are you this fine evening?”, he muttered, his voice full of irony, as per usual. Not that ~~the stupid cow~~ Delilah would notice.  She never paid him much attention anyway.

“Geoffrey? Is that you dear?” his mum’s voice came from the general direction of the living room, followed by the clutter of dishes and the low hum of his father’s voice ordering his brother around.

He entered to find them all sitting around the table.

“About time, Geff. Mum’s been fussing about you getting abducted from the train station for the last hour…” George proclaimed, sighing dramatically to point out their mother’s paranoia.

Their father laughed, gesturing for Q to sit. “I’m sure our Geoffrey can handle himself, George,” he proclaimed, making Q feel the warmth of his father’s love before he turned to his youngest son to inquire after his job.

Q gulped, smiled at his father and brother, and lied.

 

* * *

 

“Maybe we should start without them, baby. They're probably caught up in the traffic or something. Rush hour is terrible…” George trailed off in his attempt to sooth his seething fiancé. Apparently the reason Delilah had been lurking behind the door was her brother and his wife who were supposed to be coming for dinner in order to formally meet their future brother-in-law’s family. By the time Q had changed into more comfortable –and less expensive, not that any of his family would ever guess the quirky jumpers and trousers he loved to wear at work were all designer clothes – attire, the rest of the family had come to an agreement that Delilah’s brother was probably not coming at all.

And so they all ended up sitting around the dinner table, passing around the Brussels’ sprouts and the sliced roast, idly discussing about the happy couple’s upcoming nuptials.

Q was blessedly not included at the conversation, thus happy to go about munching his vegetables and brainstorm about his latest project at work, when George, devil that he was, decided to address him.

“And speaking of new apartments, isn’t it time for our dearest white dove to fly out of his nest? Or is this ‘promotion’ you mentioned not paying enough for you to be able to support an entire household?”

Delilah’s delighted sniggering brought Q back to reality. “Oh, don’t be mean, George,” she said, sounding the exact opposite of reprimanding. “You know Geff isn’t like you, bunny. Just because you were mature enough to live on your own since uni, it doesn’t mean he is…or ever will be.”

Q merely raised an eyebrow at the insult.

It was the curse of being a child-prodigy. Geoffrey Boothroyd had attended the university at the tender age of fifteen, and thus had spend all his years as a uni student living with his parents. For a boy his age, who spent all his time buried in computers –sometimes quite literally- or studying tome after tome of coding material, the university campus had always seemed a rather frightening place, full of alcohol, drugs and celebrity themed parties. It had never even crossed his mind to leave the safety of his home for _that_. His parents had money enough for him not to have to find a job and properly devote his time to his studies, so nothing had needed to change, in his mind.

And then, after his degree -and a master in computer sciences-, he’d been offered a job at MI6, and every single thing in Q’s life changed.

He’d almost declined the offer, at first. Fresh out of his studies and painfully oblivious to how the rest of the world worked, Geoffrey had been reluctant to the idea of danger, something he’d been told came with the field. Plus, taking the job would mean he’d be working for the government.

But then he’d started thinking exactly what he could actually do if he had the entire British government -and its funding- behind him.  

Geff’s intellect had always been a source of pride for his family. Somewhere in the attic there was a video cassette of a seven-year-old Geff sneaking in George’s bedroom to solve his brother’s math equations for him while he thought no one was watching while his father sniggered in the background. Thus, it had been with a broken heart that he decided to withhold the true nature of his employment from his parents, but he knew it was solely for their own good. That and the fact that his mother would worry herself silly for him if she knew he was in the espionage business.

As far as his family was concerned, Q worked as an IT consultant in a logistics company down town. He worked long hours and was underpaid and generally unimportant enough for anyone to pay him any real notice. His father had sighed, his mother had been confused and his brother had swore at him for being the ‘stupid kind of genius’ and ‘failing to come up with his own Facebook’. And that had been it.  

He hadn’t moved out, it had crossed his mind at one point but he had ultimately been too absorbed in his work at R&D to ever find time to go apartment-hunting. The only thing he indulged in really was clothes-shopping. But even this was usually done via a laptop at the comfort of his bedroom.  

Then MI6 had blown up and he had become the new head of Q branch.

“As a matter of fact…” he began, making sure to gather everyone’s attention. “I have sort of an announcement to make.” He turned to his mother, who was frowning slightly.

If only his branch were to see him now. Their always cool and unaffected ~~overlord~~ boss was sweating from sheer nervousness.

“I’m moving out, mum. I-I found a place closer to work and, well as George said, it is time for me to get out of your way,” he finished, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

It was an MI6 issued apartment, actually. As head of a branch, his security status had been upgraded and that basically meant he would have to be ‘protected’ 24-7.

The table was silent for a moment. Even Delilah and George seemed taken aback by his announcement.

His mum, predictably enough, was the first to recover. “What? Where? Why didn’t you say anything before? Are you sure about it? Is it rent? Don’t tell me you’ve bought a house… Oh, no. You found a flat mate, didn’t you? I’ve always told you about moving in with complete strangers…”

“Mum- _mum_ , would you stop it? There’s no flat mate, where did you even-“

“There is someone, though, right?” George cut in, looking excited. “Is it a boyfriend? Have you finally found yourself a sugar daddy like I’ve always suggeste-”

Delilah’s face twisted in an unattractive sneer. “Eww, George, stop being disgusting. Like your brother is interesting enough for anyone to date him…”

“Hey, watch it. That’s still my baby brother you’re talking about-”

A loud bang resonated through the living room, covering all other noise. And then the room was filling with gunned men in dark grey army uniforms and ski masks. Someone was screaming –not Q-, men were shouting, but Q’s mind had already gone into defense mode.

He had milliseconds 'til one of the men would undoubtedly reach and incapacitate him and he needed to _call for help_.

His phone in his hand, he pressed the emergency distress signal the same moment a gun was forced to the back of his head. Someone was screaming in his ear. He ignored him. He had eyes only for the device in his hands. The second he felt the slight overheat indicating the mobile's self destruction had been completed, the quartermaster regained full awareness of his surroundings and catalogued everything.

A group of eight –possibly more- armed men were holding every member of his family to gun point.

They were still in their seats over the table; his mum was crying silently, his father and brother sporting black eyes and Delilah was shaking like a leaf.

The screaming in Q’s ear had stopped. A tall man dressed in a black suit and bowtie appeared.  He stopped between Q’s father and mother’s chairs, looking at the frightened couple in amusement before lifting his head to meet Q’s eyes.

“Hello, Q. Nice to finally meet in person.”

Fucking buggering   _fuck_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first 00Q story though I've been a part of this fandom for a while. The story isn't beta'ed and is a WIP.  
> Also, you should be warned that English isn't my first language.  
> Anyway... I hope you enjoyed the read!;)


	2. The Guest

 

**Chapter 2: The guest**

Contrary to what most of MI6 thought, Bond did not spend the entirety of his in between missions spare time drinking himself half way to cirrhosis and/or shagging everything with two –usually long and shapely- legs. _Entirety_ being the key word.

Bond was a human being after all. Despite doing his best to hide and overcome them, he did _have_ emotional needs. And issues. Better not get started with his issues…

Unfortunately not everything could be resolved with an orgasm –or even ten.

Since the abrupt change in management, Bond had yet to find a way he could vent off his emotions the way he had done with her. The old M had been in many ways a home for him, if a person could ever be one. She knew and understood him better than anyone. She had seen him at his lowest and still had held on to her faith in him. Or at least that was what Bond wanted to believe.

Mallory was good, there was no denying that. Given time, he’d prove himself a capable M, one that the higher ups would easily trust the way they had trusted _her_ when she had first started. But he was barely more than a stranger to Bond. He respected him as a former soldier, recognized his value - one fighter to another- but that was it. Bond doubted Mallory would welcome his late night ‘visits’ the way Mawdsey had done: grumpily, taking none of Bond’s bullshit but in her way giving him exactly what he needed even if he more than once had bitched about it. Mallory had children, for fuck’s sake. He had a wife that was very much alive and would probably be too much of a temptation for Bond to flirt with. And then there would be no escaping Mallory’s wrath.

So visiting the new M was out of the question.

And then, there was Q. Curiously enough Moneypenny had been the one to steer James in the direction of the new quartermaster. At first he had laughed -genuinely and with gusto- at her suggestion Bond should get to know the young man better. but then he’d realized she was serious about it.

In the past the position of Q had always been held by eccentric old men with white mustaches and superhuman abilities to make a wide variety of objects explode. While useful, the past Qs had always been somewhat separated from the action, the active missions. Their job was to equip agents with the best possible equipment, nothing more.

But at some point the role of Q had changed and the Q-branch had evolved from being the modern day equivalent of a medieval smithy to being the cyber-defense of the entire British nation. They were an army all of their own.

Sometimes Bond thought he should despise the internet.

Following that logic, it shouldn’t had been surprising that Q’s title had been passed to one of those teenage genius kids. The new Q had, according to his official files –at least the ones that James had the clearance to access- very impressive credentials and unparalleled set of skills.

Apparently he was one of the best in his field. Though his youth, and therefore the pride that went with it, had managed to get him into trouble a few times  - the Silva incident being a prime example of that- Bond had come to grudgingly admit that the new Q was a lot more than just the title he had inherited.

And maybe, just maybe, he could become what Bond needed. An anchor.

Eve had mentioned something about checking out apartments with the new Q, MI6 issued ones of course, so James had started his search from there. After a few failed attempts at hacking the HR files, he had come to the conclusion that the best way to find out where Q lived was via some good old-fashioned tailing.

He had yet to decide whether he would actually do it or not. Perhaps he should get to know the mysterious young man a bit better before following him around London. It would probably make him feel less of a creep.

Underneath all his bravado, Q seemed surprisingly vulnerable. It sang to James' more primal side. He always had a thing for smart and sexy. Add to that someone to call to his savior complex and James was utterly done for.

So yeah... maybe, just maybe, James was interested in Q a little more than he'd like to admit for reasons he didn't dare think about. 

“You heading out, blue eyes?” a tired looking Eve Moneypenny asked him the moment she stepped out of the lift, her voice dripping with familiar sarcasm. “My, my… Are we pulling tonight, Mr Bond?” she added, taking note of his suit; a finely tailored three-piece that made him look irresistible, or so he’d been told. Repeatedly.

“I’m afraid everything else is at the dry cleaners,” he answered, easily matching her steps as she headed to the main entrance. They walked outside in a comfortable silence until they reached Eve’s car.

“Need a lift?” she asked, arching her eyebrow. Not a chance. Bond remembered her driving quite clearly, thank you very much.

“I'll pass.”

She smiled. “Alright, Bond. Goodnigh- _oh_ ” she sighed, frustrated, at the sound of her mobile ringing. She picked up.  James had just about turned around and started heading for his car when she swore loudly.

“Shit. _Fuck_ -Bond get back here _,_ we havean emergency.”

 

* * *

 

“There, all set,” the bowtie man –and God he was going to ruin Doctor Who for him, wasn’t he?- exclaimed happily as one of his men finished tying Q to his chair. The hard plastic cut through his circulation in the most annoying way, making his fingers numb.

Everything felt surreal to Q. Like he was living a nightmare or watching a specially-made-only-for-him horror movie.

All his family had been tied up as well. Q had to watch from his seat, unable to do anything as those _bastards_ manhandled the people who raised him and roughened up his older brother into submission when he tried to fight back.

They’d ended up gagging only Delilah though, since she had been unable to stop whimpering.

Thank God for small mercies.

 “So… Here we are. Aren’t we a merry little group?” the man asked, turning around as if he was addressing everyone. The man was putting up a show and it was all for Q, every single word aimed at him and him only. Q stared at their captor. There was something unnerving in his appearance. His face was plain, hair a dirty blond and a facial structure that would blend in perfectly in a line of ordinary people. It was the way he held himself that made the difference. It spoke of power and not in a good way. And maybe his eyes. His eyes were grey, cold and calculating, the eyes of a preditor.

Q tried to inwardly keep himself as calm and collected as possible.  

Time was of the essence. Since MI6 had definitely gotten his distress call, the only thing left for him was to stall. Q’s mind momentarily drifted to the two agents that were supposed to be his protective detail for the night. Not even A-level agents, Q was certain they hadn’t stood a chance against a team of highly trained, highly organized hostiles.

He cursed his luck. If only his higher ups had realized how high risk a job being the head of Q-branch had become, then perhaps the two green agents would have still been alive and Q’s family would have been in the middle of desert by now.

It was his damn fault as well. He knew he couldn’t blame M, not entirely. God he’d been so _stupid_. Stupid and cocky. He knew full well how valuable he was becoming to MI6, hell to Britain, even if the agency did not realize it. He should have moved out of his parent’s house sooner, should have pushed for a better protective detail, should have-

The sharp sting of a palm connecting with his cheek brought him back to reality. The bowtie man was hovering above him, eyes glinting with something dangerous, his demeanor void of all his previous nonchalance.  

“Am I boring you, Q?” His voice was ice.

Q gulped. This was the point where he was supposed to assume his alias and deny his identity. Though he wouldn’t be using the fake name and identity MI6 had provided him with for cases such as these, but his real name, the lies he had thought up on his own and had fed to his family for years.

For a moment, a brief, _brief_ moment, Q’s chest flared with anger, his entire being screaming as he forced himself to hide behind the mask of the scared-out-of his-wits IT geek, when all he wanted was to _maim_ these bastards for daring to come into his home, touch his family.

“I- I don’t understand… What… wh-who are you?” he stuttered, deliberately making his voice small while keeping his eyes as wide and innocent-looking as possible.

“Who we are is of no importance. I’m much more interested in you, dear Q.” His grin widened. Combined with his cold eyes, it made the man look deadly. “See? I made a rhyme!”

Fuck, he was deranged.

Q stayed in character. Really, it was quite familiar for him to play the part of the victim. After all he _had_ been one in his younger days. And these days he’d grown used to keeping at least part of the act even around his family. He had never let the confidence and authority he had gained with his job slip into his everyday life with them.

“Look, there must be a mistake.You are clearly confusing me with someone else. My name is Geoffr-”

“Your name is Geoffrey Boothroyd, son of Leonard C. Boothroyd and Marge Welling-Boothroyd.” The man replied, as if reciting a dramatic monologue. Definitely a showman, this guy. “I _know_ , dear Q. I know everything there is to know about you.”

Before Q had proper time to assess whether Bowtie-man’s threat was real or not –though signs thus far suggested that it was as genuine as they come- George, the ever meddling fool, spoke up.

“Look, mafia-guy sir… whomever you’re looking for, you have the wrong person! Our Geoffrey’s an _IT nerd_ for fuck sake! Not some stupid Q.. Z... letter of the alphabet!” Thankfully George got the message to shut up as soon as the man turned his focus on him. The Bowtie man had an annoying little smirk on, one who betrayed he was having too much fun toying with his victims and Q wanted nothing more than to bash his face in.

“Believe me Mr. George, your little brother is exactly who I’m looking for.”

Turning his attention back to Q, Bowtie man tilted his head, considering. Q reined in the urge to shoot him his most deadly glare, and tried to look as cowering as posible. The man's eyes lit up.

“I must admit your act is quite… perfect. Right now you look so scared and vulnerable. Completely innocent.” He walked around his chair, coming to a stop behind Q. For a moment, Q caught up the smell of men's perfume, the expensive kind that always made him think of double-0s and Bond. He nearly shivered as the memory of Bond smirking at him in the gallery all those months ago surfaced in his mind and he forced himself not to get distracted thinking of 007. It was most definitely not the time for one of his usual daydreams. 

“Yet it was _you_ ,” he mock whispered in Q’s ear as one of his hands grabbed Q’s bound ones with force enough to break bone, “ _these delicate little hands_ that just last month sent _sixty three_ people to the other world with just a few keystrokes.”

Q’s mind went blank at that. He couldn’t be talking about…

“Sixty three men and women of all ages died in an explosion at a weapons factory just outside Meshkin Shahr in Iran because of you, Q.”

Fuck. He was. Q recalled the incident perfectly well. It had been a major fuck up on their side due to falsified intelligence. 003 had been played like a fiddle by some leggy double agent, and the hit that would supposedly coincide with the factory’s maintenance day -and the day of a million dollar transaction with a terrorist cell - happened on a full working day. Q had known that most of the casualties had been poor, _innocent_ workers who had spent most of their lives slaving away for scraps. He still had trouble sleeping at nights.

“Geoffrey… What is he talking about?” his mother’s voice almost made Q startle. It was so bizarre having to combine his usually so compartmentalized thoughts into one convertation. For Geoff Boothroyd and the Quartermaster to mix so irrevocably. His mum looked terrified. And Q wasn’t sure if she was afraid of the man who held them captive or of what he was saying about him. 

Q couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. Instead he did what he was trained to do in cases such as these. He stayed in character.

“You’re mistaken!" he breathed out. "I-I fix computers that’s what I do. I have no idea what Mesh-kar even means!”

It was a new low for him, to deny those deaths that still weighed so heavily in his conscious, but Q had to keep it together. Just a little more _time_ …

But alas, it seemed that the Bow-tie man was just not buying it and time was running up. “I assure you, Q, I am not. Enough of this silly game of yours...” He gestured to one of the armed men behind Q and suddenly a laptop was being placed before him.

“Though I am quite confident in having incapacitated whatever security measures your employers have taken, I would feel a lot more comfortable if we got this little show on the road.”

Q stiffened. He eyed the laptop wearily as Bowtie took out a chair and sat beside him, hand casually playing with the keyboard. His focus was entirely on Q when he finally revealed the whole reason he was there in the first place.

“I need you to hack into MI6 using this laptop and plant a little surprise gift that my people have prepared for them. Simple as that really.”

And it _was_ simple, Q thought as a thousand thoughts and calculations rushed through his mind. But at the same time it was brilliant. Of course it was. Even before the Silva debacle Q, then R and in charge of the entire cyber-security unit, MI6’s network was one of the best protected in the entire world. After Silva Q had become obsessed with perfecting the firewall. He had proudly proclaimed more than once that none but him could hack into MI6, and even for him it would be far from a walk in the park.

The only way to get inside MI6's servers was through Q.

 “Oh, and I need you to hurry up." Bowtie finished and turned to his men. "Gentlemen.” As if they were one, all the men around them held up their guns in unison. Bowtie was up again, in Q's personal space, crowding him. “I have no delusions as to believe you haven’t found a way to send for help. You damsel in distress you…” 

Q’s mum let out a gasp. “Geoffrey… Tell me you didn’t do anything stupid. You’re not.. You’re not one of these _hackers-_ ”

Bowtie-man laughed, not bothering to take his eyes of Q. “God, but you are cruel! Your own family and they have no idea who you are... No he’s not a hacker, Marge, my sweet love.” He said, voice dripping in irony, finally moving away from Q to turn to Q's mum. “No mere hacker could break through MI6’s firewall. That’s what it has got to be him, you see.”

Q’s heart almost stopped as the Bowtie man took a sharp hunting knife seemingly out of thin air and brought it to Q’s mum’s neck with a smooth motion.

And then the man added.

“ _He_ is the one who made it in the first place. Your son is the head of MI6’s Q-branch. The _infamous_ Quartermaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say sorry to anyone from Iran or that specific city I mention in the text! I picked it completely randomly, I didn't do it to offend anyone. Also, WOW thank you all for the really nice responce and support! It means a lot, really.
> 
> Again I'll ask you to leave a review and tell me if you like the way the story is developing. I'm not very certain about where I want this to go, so feel free to leave your suggestions!
> 
>  
> 
> XXX


	3. Running out of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I am SO SORRY for being so late!!! You guys, you've all been wonderful and I just feel terrible at how late I am posting this.  
> Also, I'm not sure about this chapter. I kinda got a small writers block and though I now am pass it, I still am not entirely satisfied with this chapter. I hope you at least find it not that terrible... :s

**Chapter 3: Running out of time**

_“He is the one who made it in the first place. Your son is the head of MI6’s Q-branch._ _The_ _infamous  Quartermaster.”_

Q froze on the spot. He could feel all eyes resting on him but kept his own forcibly shut, if only to give himself a moment to regroup.

_Calm down, just… calm down._

_'There’s still time to fix this' Q thought, guilt and desperation simultaneously flooding his heart. Damn his life choices. His family didn't deserve any of this._

Making sure he had his best frightened expression in place –something that wasn’t a hardship at that point-, Q slowly allowed himself eye contact with his family.

_God they all look so… stunned._

In the past year Q had imagined his family’s reaction to his true profession more times than he cared to admit. 

None of the scenarios in mind had involved a _hostage_ situation though.

But the pure disbelief and bewilderment written plainly across all their faces?  Yup. _That_ he had hit spot on.

There was a moment of silence. Perhaps they wouldn’t believe it, Q desperately tried to reason. After all why should they? Why should they believe a complete stranger who is holding them hostage at gunpoint over him? He tried to quell his panic. If Q wanted he was certain he could make just the _suggestion_ of him working for MI6 seem ludicrous. But that wasn't the most important thing right now, was it. Q or not, all their lives where still at risk. Not to mention national security.

_Shit._

_Where’s that annoying 007 when you need him?_

Chasing away any lingering thoughts of 007, Q focused on the situation at hand. His secret was out. He was being blackmailed into hacking his own servers. his life and the lives of all the people he held dear in the world were in danger. 

Then his father spoke for the first time since all this had started. He expected his family to demand an explanation, but when Leonard Boothroyd finally spoke he addressed their captor and not his son and he most certainly didn’t sound demanding.

“Look here, sir,” he began, and Q felt the first strings of dread churning inside his stomach at his father’s defeated yet determined tone. He'd never heard that tone before nor did he ever want to hear it again.

“I’m sure that there has been a… _misunderstanding_. Geoffrey isn’t who you claim. Please believe me… ”

Q had never felt so many fierce emotions as he did at that one moment. Anger, protectiveness and fear surged through him like a torrent of power the likes of which could decimate half the neighborhood. His father wasn’t an agent. Far from it. He wasn’t supposed to have to deal with anything more dangerous than a lawn mower, let alone international terrorist groups for fucks sake. But that did nothing to stop him from trying to protect his wife and children, even when he was clearly so out of his element, so confused and so _terrified_.

“Sir, my son is a good boy. He’s always been the most kind-hearted, mild-tempered,  gentle young man I’ve ever known…”

Fucking hell, as if Q wasn’t feeling guilty _enough_.

“Enough.” In the blink of an eye, bowtie held out a gun and pointed it at Leonard. 

“Geoffrey, for fuck’s sake, _tell them_! Tell them you’re not who they say you are!” George yelled, panicked. Pointlessly, Q thought. They were already beeing threatened with weapons, one more wouldn't make a difference. Q saw it for what it was, a warning for him not to waste any more of the bowtie man's time. Not a real threat... A promise of sorts. An "or else". Beside Q, Delilah was now back to full sobbing and Q's mum was shaking, probably with shock. Guns always had that effect on normal people, Q had noticed.

Alas, George kept on, raving.

“YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU BASTARD, YOU HEAR ME?”

And then something Q did not expect happened. The gun was fired. But not at Leonard.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. The man, that hated, psychotic son of a bitch had just _shot_ Q’s brother without batting an eyelid.

George was slumped on the chair, his bound limbs preventing him from falling on the hard floor. A dark stain marked his shirt, just below his right shoulder. It was slowly growing.

Q didn’t register neither the screams nor the tears around him. His eyes were focused on his brother's limp form, trying desperately to detect movement, to see proof that he was still alive. Bowtie, -dead man walking, because Q _would_ kill him, and soon- walked casually to where his victim lay, grasped George’s hair and lifted the limp head up for everyone to see.

“See? He’s still alive. _Jesus Christ_ , you people are full of drama…”

Q allowed himself one silent sigh of relief. George was still alive. But for how long? The situation had gone south quicker than you could say byte. Q had clearly miscalculated Bowtie's intentions. He had been mistaken. The Quartermaster wasn't allowed to make mistakes.

This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a mission. It wasn’t even a job. This was real. This was his _family_ who was being threatened, _shot at._

He felt like he had been drenched in ice water and woken up to find that his nightmare had become his reality. All this time, he's been stalling, but not only them. He was hindering himself.

MI6 had not come. Not yet. And he couldn’t afford to wait for them any longer. He couldn't afford playing Geoff the nerd any longer. Geoff wasn't equiped for this, Q was.

He turned to face the bowtie man, no longer caring if his mask of innocence had slipped.

He glared at him. He was Q, and he would beat him. 

The bowtie man kept on talking, unfazed.

“Now, Q, let’s get to the point. You will start hacking into MI6 _now_ , or else I will blow your brother’s brains out,” he said, finishing with an exaggerated mimicry of firing the gun at George’s head.

 “You there, free his hands. Let’s get our wonder-boy to work, shall we?”

One of the men pulled Q’s bound hands and moments later, he was free to move them once more.  He brought his hands to rest upon the keyboard.

“Geoffrey please , do what he wants… Just… Try to! God, _please_! George, my baby- ”  his mother begged frantically.

Q had only ever seen Marge Boothroyd cry once before; at his grandfather’s funeral. To see her like that now, so beside herself with worry, fear and desperation, almost broke him.

Almost.

It didn’t matter keeping up the pretenses anymore. Things had progressed well beyond that. What was important was for Q to keep his family from further harm. He would just have a lot of explaining to do afterwards. 

“Oh, and Q… I feel I should warn you… This laptop is monitored by my own team of specialists. Try anything _clever_ and I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

 And there lay the real issue. What could Q really do to get out of this particular tight spot? Could he risk stalling in hope MI6 would get here in time?  A voice in Q’s mind reminded him that it was already pass that time. Could he maybe risk an attempt to alert Q branch of the attack to the servers? No. Somehow he doubted ‘accidentally’ stepping into one of his famous booby-trap subroutines could go unnoticed. Not if the man’s last warning was true.  

Q knew that if he deviated even the slightest from the instructions he’d been given, his family would be as good as gone. God, how stupid he’d been. How idiotic. This was all his fault.  

Following the man’s instructions was out of the question. Q couldn’t risk MI6’s, the whole country’s security, even with his family under threat. It wasn’t even a matter of professionalism. It was a matter of ethics, of his sense of duty towards his country.  
He was an servant of the Crown. He was the Quartermaster. Where the 00’s were her Majesty’s most lethal weapons, _he_ was her best defense.

Q wouldn’t budge. But he wouldn’t let that maniac harm his family any more too. He was smarter than all the people in the room combined, it was time he acted it.

“You honestly have no idea just how much I will enjoy having the chance to slaughter your family,” he heard the words whispered in his ear.  

Shooting a final glance at his brother's slack form, Q started typing.

 

* * *

 

“007, status report.”

Mallory’s voice sounded through the earpiece. Bond lowered his night goggles before answering.

“Found Patrickson and Davis. They’re dead. There are at least four armed men and a sniper guarding the building,” he whispered.

He was crouched behind a dumpster in the alley across from Q’s house.

“Looks like they have blocked all windows from the inside. Can’t estimate how many they are in total. I think the lights are on in the second window of the first floor, possibly a dinning or living room.”

“We sent the plans of the building to your phone. You need to be careful, Bond. We have to find out more about what’s going on inside before we send a team in. Whatever you do , don’t get caught, understood?” R’s voice instructed.

“Got it.”

* * *

 


	4. Turning tables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back!!! I really don't know what to say you guys. Its been months, I know, but I just had the biggest writers block in history. Plus I was too busy with work blahblahblah... You know, the usual. Anyway... I kinda edited the previous chapters a bit. Nothing much, just fixing some grammar, vocab etc. I still don't really like chapter three but I'm too lazy to rewrite it completely. Anyway, I like this one better. I hope you do too. Please feel free to tell me what you think!

 

Chapter   4: Turning tables 

It had been a rather uneventful evening thus far, R thought while scrolling through her tablet looking at the latest report from 005’s mission in Jakarta. It was almost boring.

Q branch was usually peaceful at this late hour. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t still hard at work. Indeed, out of all of MI6’s departments,  Q branch technicians and programmers  were notorious for their inability to work  the typical 9 to 5, often pulling double or even triple shifts; not due to lack of personnel, but simply because they did not wish to leave their work unfinished.

Danielle certainly understood that. She’d been working in this place almost nine years now, she knew the golden rule. Something always came up. An operation gone wrong, a prototype failing, a deranged maniac being on the loose.

Danielle _loved_ her job.

They had been monitoring one of their latest ops in Egypt, recon stuff, nothing too complicated, when one of her assistants forwarded an emergency e-mail to her screen.

“Time stamp: twenty one forty seven. Code five. Calculating signal origin,”  he said, as she overrode the initial encryption, noting Q’s signature code, and finally realized what type of message this was.

Distress signal. Its source: Q’s personal mobile.

Well, she could strike boring out of her list for this evening.

 “Alright people. We have an emergency. Initiating protocols, designation alpha-nine-zero-theta. Simons, get me the big guy. It seems our Quartermaster got himself in a bit of a pickle…”

 

* * *

 

 

It certainly hadn’t been what Bond expected when he had thought of where Q lived. The man was mysterious to say the least, but taking in the way he dressed and the gentle poisonous tone of his always proper and well enunciating voice, Bond had been almost certain Q was from rich, old family, well-bred and spoiled rotten since infancy.

He hadn’t thought Q was middle class _at best_.

With an expertly calculated hit to the back of the neck, Bond took out the armed man he found guarding the house’s back door.  The man fell to the ground, barely making any noise at all, and Bond quickly moved him to the darkest corner of the back yard before returning to the door.

He paused before entering, momentarily considering how easily he’d passed through the perimeter. Almost too easy. It could very well be that he was walking into a trap.

Oh well, it would certainly be entertaining enough. He was a 00 after all. He could take care of himself well enough.

Inside, it was dark. The room looked like a hallway with a stairway and a door at the end of it. A man was walking down the stairs, the shadow of a weapon clear in his hand.

Bond tried to recall the house schematics. There were three rooms downstairs, a kitchen, a living room and a bath, while the first floor had five rooms, three bedrooms, a library and a second bathroom. The way it looked from outside, one would think Q and whomever else was in the building –Q’s family the likeliest candidates, according to R and M- was being held upstairs, probably in the library. This was not the case. There was light and a faint murmur of voices coming from the half-ajar door at the end of the hallway.

The living room, then. Bond would bet his right hand that was where Q was.

After shooting a glance around the dark corridor, the man stepped through the door, footsteps fading at the distance.

 “I need not remind you that we are running out of time Bond. We _are_ under attack, after all.” Mallory sounded rather pissed off at the entire situation. Bond couldn’t blame him.

“ETA on the back up?”  he asked.

“8 minutes. Again, we need to be sure of what we’re up against before we send them in, Bond. _That’s_ your job.”

Bond almost didn’t deign with an answer. Almost. He never could hold back a good comeback.

“And whose job was it to let the Quartermaster of MI6 live in an unmonitored house with his mom and dad now?”

James smirked as the earpiece stayed silent.

“Just have your boys take out the sniper. Leave the rest to me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Please…”

A woman’s voice, distressed.

Q ignored it. He finished overriding the fifth trap-routine of the second level. He was beginning to notice shifts in the initial algorithm, proof that his team back at HQ was fighting back his attack.

And what an attack it had been. Q had literally gone in with all he had. No subtle sneaking around, he had launched a full on offensive to the MI6 firewall. It was all he could do to warn them what- or better yet who- they were up against.

“Please let me help him… Please… he’s my _son_ …”

The quiet sobbing reached him once again. Q could not afford to think of it, of her, of her son. It was the only way. He was the Quartermaster and he had a task to finish. It was the only chance they all had.

“Do shut up,” Bowtie answered, and Q almost agreed with him. He didn’t need the distraction.

It had come to him while he was finishing his initial attack, deciding which course he should take next, how he could stall without making it obvious he was stalling. It was a detail he had almost deleted from his too busy brain, but now it was probably his best bet. A few weeks ago, R had asked permission to develop an experimental back up network, a cyberspace built inside the MI6 network designed to be of use when the mainframe was compromised. It was supposed to have a more limited but distinctly unique structure, one that would allow Q-branch to keep MI6 HQ operational, if not able to protect all her secrets. The network gave them back control of door locks, elevators, electricity and internal communications, while being completely separated from anything mission and data related.  Q had seen through the lines, R was trying to prevent another Silva-escape incident.

It was still in an early experimental stage, an almost completely isolated from the rest of the systems.

It was where Q was heading now.

Better risk an MI6 without electricity, than another major intelligence leak, or a virus.

“Please… He’s lost so much blood.”

Geoff had been 16 and attending uni when he came out to his family. He’d known since he was 12 and couldn’t bother talking about girls, that he was different. His interest was piqued by handsome football players, instead of the bikini models George loved to drool at.

He had been scared, afraid of his mum and dad’s reactions, but mostly, he dreaded George’s. His always-making-fun-of-him, slightly abusing, overly athletic older brother.

His mum had said she knew all along. His dad said it made no difference.

George had stared at him for five minutes straight without saying a word and then left the room. Geoff had cried a bit, then told himself it didn’t matter, that he had better things to do than wallow in pity anyway.

The next day George surprised him by setting him up on a date.

-the date of course had been a total disaster, but Geoff had appreciated the sentiment none the less-

Fuck. This was why he couldn’t afford the distraction.

Pausing for the first time since his hands had touched the keyboard, Q looked at his brother. George’s eyes were open now, though unfocused. He was barely conscious. The wound looked like it was still bleeding, though slower now. Nobody had bothered tying it, or at least putting pressure on it.

That was unacceptable. Q was doing this to save his family and that most definitely included his brother.

“Who told you to stop, Q?”

Bowtie was standing a few feet away, holding a tablet in hand, presumably checking on Q’s progress. He was eyeing him with mistrust, hand already moving to the gun in his belt.

 Q didn’t flinch. He needed to make some things clear before he continued.

“You _will_ take care of my brother’s wound. He dies and you get nothing else from me.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, the same he used in his work. He was Q and he was not to be trifled with. In the corner of his eye he caught his father’s distraught face. Q liked to think it was more to do with his elder son having been shot than with his youngest revealed to be a fake.  

“I’m not one of your underlings, Q. You _dare_ order me around…” Bowtie almost growled. At least he was easy to distract, Q thought absentmindedly.

All this time, ticking as a silent countdown in the back of his head, Q had been keeping time. He knew MI6 was near, perhaps even here, in his house this very moment, waiting for an opportunity, a chance to act.

Q knew Bowtie was expecting he’d called for backup. He probably had some sort of trap ready for them.

If only the 00s hadn’t all been off country at the time. This was a textbook 007 situation.   

But Bond had gone off grid at his latest mission. M had said he estimated he would resurface any day now, but Q didn’t hold his breath. 007 was anything but predictable.

He berated himself; he was too old to be thinking of Bond coming to his rescue like a knight in shining armor. Q was not a bloody teenager, no matter what 007 said.

Bowtie approached George and for a moment Q thought the man would comply. That soon proved to be nothing more than wishful thinking on his part. Bowtie didn’t lose any time, he lifted the gun once again, aiming at George’s head.

Q narrowed his eyes and swore for the thousandth time he would kill the man if it was the last thing he did.

“Go. Back. To work…” he said, almost spitting out each word, while moving the gun accordingly to emphasize his threat.

Q held his gaze stubbornly for another beat. He knew, though, he'd lost this battle.

It was then that the door opened and none other than 007, gun at hand and as looking dapper as ever, stepped in.

“Am I interrupting?”


	5. The Bond effect

Chapter 5: The Bond effect

 

_It was then that the door opened and none other than 007 , gun at hand and as dapper as ever, stepped in._

_“Am I interrupting?”_

 

There was a distinct difference between working in an environment dedicated in the perfection of the art of violence, and the actual experiencing of it.

007, when he meant to, was the _epitome_ of violence.

An eerie stillness that seemed to stretch moments into infinity followed Bond’s sudden appearance. The men that held Q and his family seemed… stunned. For the fraction of a second that it took for Bond to raise his gun, Q _almost_ felt sorry for them.

Then Bond fired.

 

* * *

 

James walked into the living room oozing a deadly confidence only a seasoned assassin as himself could ever hope to possess. Scanning the room, he immediately noticed two things. One, the would be Q-dnappers were apparently stupid –or plainly ignorant- enough to keep the quartermaster uncuffed, and two, he would have to be quicker than originally planned, since there was a man bleeding though a wound in his chest and he didn’t appear to be on the bad guys side either.  

Making use of the time the shock caused by his excellantly timed entrance gave him, Bond shot a second glance at Q. He, at least, appeared unharmed, although mightily pissed off. Their eyes connected for a second.

The movement beside Q’s head, a muscle tensing in the beginning of a movement, was enough for Bond’s instincts to react to. He shot once, twice, three times, his aim precise and his hand steady, the adrenaline in his blood leaving him in a familiar intoxicated-like bliss. Three men fell, dead.

That. That was what he knew best.

Chaos ensued. More shots were fired, this time towards his direction as the rest of the armed men joined the party but James was already moving, his eye set on Q.

All around furniture were falling or exploding from stray shots and falling bodies. The man closer to the Quartermaster, the only one wearing a suit – aka the boss-, was shouting for the others to ‘Kill him!’ while holding a gun to Q’s head. He had forcibly lifted the young man up, moving to drag him away.

Not on Bond’s watch.

“You know, I could actually do with a bit of help right now!” Bond yelled through his earpiece while shooting down another assailant and taking cover behind what probably was the dinner table. He couldn’t wait for a response.  

He heard a muffled moan on his side. At some point during the fight the rest of the hostages had fallen on the ground, still tied to the chairs. Bond saw the one closer to him, a woman in her fifties -Q’s mum- struggling in vain to reach the wounded man, the source of the moan. Unfortunately Bond’s priority was the Quartermaster. He could only hope that the silence over communications meant help was already here.

The remaining men were retreating, but had already formed a shield around their leader who was dragging a struggling Q towards the other end of the room, closer to the back window. To be fair, Q put quite a fight, but it wasn’t very much working.

Running out of fire and having no time to reload Bond grabbed a riffle from one of the fallen bodies and again opened fire just as the leader through Q out of the glass window, following close behind.

 

* * *

  

Afterwards, the only thing Q recalled from his struggle in Bowtie’s arms was the man’s hissed “ _Shit!_ ” followed by the sting of what felt like a thousand glass shards piercing Q’s body.

When he came to, Q was lying on a stretcher, surrounded by people in what looked like –and probably was- the inside of a moving ambulance.

“He’s waking up… Q? Can you hear me?” a man… one of the paramedics, asked. Q’s head throbbed painfully. He closed his eyes, unable to make himself answer. Everything was coming back to him, the reality of what had happened to him -God, to his _family_ \- was becoming agonizingly clear and it was crippling him. His dad and mom tied up… Shit. _George had been shot_... Where they even still alive?

His last thought before he let darkness consume him once more was that perhaps that was what he got for playing God.

 

* * *

 

The second time Q came to was to the sound of a steady beat of a heart monitor. He blinked several times, his eyes trying to adjust to the cold white light of medical.

He tried to get up, only to feel the sharp sting of an i.v. line being almost pulled out. Someone approached his bed, Q couldn’t see who, still quite blinded by light.

“Easy there… Welcome back, Q.”

A female voice. Smooth, detached, probably a nurse.

Q’s voice sounded hoarse and foreign to his ears. “My family…” he rasped. “Where… where are they?”

Something wet and cold touched his lips, a gauze saturated in water. Q hadn’t realized how dry his mouth had been. His head felt strange... not in pain but... detached? He forced his mind to concentrate. Finally he managed to keep his eyes open. A middle-aged woman in white was looking at him. She seemed rather uncomfortable.

“I’ll go get Doctor Davies, sir.” She said and was gone.

Worry crept inside Q once again clearing his mind from the fuzz of medication and injury. The last time he saw his family George was slowly bleeding to death. Did MI6 take him? Did he make it? Was anyone else injured? A hundred questions and scenarios formed in his mind, each one worse than the other. He could see mother killed, his father injured, George taking his final breath, even Delilah lying on the ground with blood oozing from her half-open mouth. The beeping of the monitor became quicker with each breath he took and soon the white room started to darken, black spots filling Q’s vision.

Distantly, the door opened and the sound of footsteps filled the room.

“Quartermaster! _Sir_! You need to calm down! Here, breathe in here...” someone urged him. “Nurse, bring me 2cc diazepam will you? Looks like he’s having a panic attack.”

“ _Geoff?_ ” a woman asked, her tone worried and subdued. Familiar. Q knew that voice. No one in MI6 called him by his name, no one but the higher-ups even _knew_ his name. His vision started to come back and the ringing in his ears slowly faded. Doctor Davies was right in front of him, checking his eyes. She smiled in a calm, professional manner. When she took a step back, she revealed the other woman in the room.

“Mum?”    


	6. A conversation long overdue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Another chapter, not a week after the previous one !!! I'm having too much fun with these characters...  
> I definitely upped the 00Q feels in this one. Its slow, guys, but not that slow!  
> Anyway, I hope you like it ! Here goes nothing...

James thought that, in the end, everything went down rather smoothly, considering. It was all done in such a short time frame –the news of the hostage situation, him going over, the fight- that any feelings of worry and concern really settled in only after they’d all returned to the headquarters and safety; all while James was forced to endure Mallory’s exasperated glare for about three and a half hours.

In a strike of pure action movie style precision, the team had arrived only seconds after James had watched Q being forcibly thrown out of the window, taking out all remaining assailants. The leader, the man that had tried to take Q had unfortunately escaped, taking advantage of the fact that the team’s –and frankly Bond’s as well- first priority was securing the Quartermaster.

A rather large part of Bond’s debrief had been focused on the possible identification of said leader. Mallory had seemed fairly insistent that it should become one of the Agency’s top concerns and Bond definitely had agreed. More than. Recalling the entire experience, James had felt growingly more confident that he had seen that man before. Perhaps a search of his past missions with the help of Q-branch technology and the latest face identification program would be in order.  

Bond had been forced to report to Medical the moment Mallory was done debriefing him. James for once had been more than eager to follow an order. Though he had sustained nothing more than a few scratches, some of the others involved hadn’t gotten off that lightly.

The first person he found when he got there wasn’t actually a doctor, but the ever lovely and even more dangerous Eve Moneypenny. James noted she looked a bit on edge, but the moment her eyes fell on him a tentative smile formed on her lips.

“Well that certainly was an interesting sort of evening, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Bond?” she said half-teasingly. The little remaining tension inside James uncoiled. Eve wouldn’t be speaking so lightly if anything serious had happened to Q or his family.

“My... _second_ favourite type of activities, I’d say...” he replied.

She laughed at the horrendous innuendo.

“How’s the kid then?” James asked, aiming to sound as nonchalant as possible. He quite strongly felt he needed to know Q was alright, but he’d be damned if he let Moneypenny take wind of it.

Last time he’d seen him, Q had looked so incredibly vulnerable, being carried away by paramedics on a stretcher, unconscious and covered in blood. It had stirred something deep inside James. An old, familiar feeling of possessive rage he hadn’t felt in a while. He knew that logically Q wasn’t in danger any longer, that the wounds were superficial and not life-threatening, but still James’s instinctual respond couldn’t be contained. Last he’d felt that way was when M -the old, true M- took her last breath, dying in his arms.

Eve smirked. “Worried about our head of Q-branch, 007?”

He rolled his eyes. A throat was cleared.

“007, if you’d like...” the head nurse said, appearing as if out of thin air, gesturing towards one of the exam room doors.

“I’ll go keep Q some company then. Why don’t you come join us when you’re done, Bond?”

James didn’t hesitate answering.

“It’s a date.”

 

* * *

 

 

Q had just finished changing into his normal work clothes, a nicely tailored pair of dark trousers, a shirt and of course a comfortable blue cardigan, the moment Eve entered his room in Medical.

“Nice to see you looking like yourself again, Quartermaster,” she said while looking him over, acknowledging R’s presence with a small nod.

Q tried not to blush. He straightened the cardigan until he felt satisfied it was perfect. The only visible sign of the last hours’ events left on him was the bandage on his forehead and the scratches on his knuckles.

“I’ve been cleared for discharge as of five minutes ago. Danielle was kind enough to bring me one of the spare sets I keep in my office.”

Indeed Q had been lucky. Doctor Davies had informed him that besides the ‘multiple superficial lacerations’ he had also ‘suffered a mild concussion and a stress induced panic attack’. He’d just need rest and a few days of antibiotics and he’d be fine.

Of course that was the easy part. The hard part would be facing his family again after this entire debacle.

Geoff didn’t want to even think about that.

He had only briefly talked to his mother before the medication and exhaustion had kicked in and he’d fallen asleep once again. That had been hours ago.  He vaguely remembered asking if she was alright. She had shushed him and told him not to worry. She had looked sad.

Danielle, R, got up from her chair, smiling kindly.

“Anything for you, boss...” she said teasingly. “Well, I’ll be off then. Need to go back to the branch and sort out the mess this _particularly_ annoying hacker caused...”

“Very funny,” he retorted flatly.

After she left, Eve took the chair by the bed, eyeing Q carefully. After a few moments, a look of understanding crossed her features.

“Ah... I see. I take it your family had been blissfully unaware their youngest had become somewhat involved in the espionage business...”

He was that obvious in his internal freak-out, it would seem.

“Well, they aren’t any more.”

The first thing Doctor Davies told him after declaring him healthy enough to leave was the list of injuries his family had sustained.

The best news had been that George would be ok. More than, if he were to take the doctor’s word for it. The gunshot wound had been a clear through and through, thankfully not damaging any major vessels or nerves. Actually George, despite going through a minor surgery and a blood transfusion, had managed to wake up before Q. Yes he would be on pain medication and intravenous antibiotics for a few days but that was nothing compared to what it could have been.

Q had been alarmed to the point of near panic when Dr. Davies told him his father had been shot too. She had of course rushed to amend that by adding that it was just a grazing wound that needed only a few stitches. Thankfully neither his mum nor Delilah had been harmed in any physical way, apart from some bruises.

Again, physical was the key word.

Q was certain they’d all need some serious therapy after all.

 “You haven’t seen them yet, I take it?” Moneypenny asked sounding rather sympathetic.

Q shook his head.

“Well you know what they say: no time like the present!” she said and swiftly grabbed him by the shoulders, leading him out the door.

George was in a room two doors down the hall. Q eyed the guards standing outside of it with bewilderment. Probably they had something to do with the fact that Q’s family wasn’t really cleared to be where they currently were. Security risks and all that rubbish.

The guards nodded to them and proceeded to open the door.

The room was quite different from his own. Where Q’s had been a typical hospital-ward like room, this particular room looked more like it belonged in a five star hotel. It was warm coloured and soft lighted, with a double bed in the middle, a small sofa- armchair arrangement in one corner and a closet in the other.

George was lying on the bed. The iv fluid bag hang on the side, the only sign that they indeed were in medical. There was a nurse as well, fiddling with the bag, probably checking something. Beside the bed, Q’s dad had taken a seat in a comfortable-looking armchair while Q’s mum was standing on his side. Delilah was sitting on the bed near her fiancé.

Apparently they hadn’t realized they had visitors yet.

“Look Q, they’re all here! How incredibly convenient...” Eve practically purred before moving over to sit by the small visitor’s sofa. Evil woman. Q swore she would’ve been eating popcorn and twitting out all the juicy details if she weren't bound to secrecy.

Almost simultaneously, everyone turned their heads towards the door. Q braced himself.

No one said anything. After a moment of stillness, the nurse, apparently done with her task, took her leave after shooting Q a polite ‘sir’.

“You know... the thing I find the most ridiculous about all of this is the idea of other people actually calling you sir...”

Q turned to his brother. He didn’t step closer. George words trailed off and in the renewed silence they felt ambiguous enough for Q to get disheartened.

God... how could he even begin... where would he even begin from? Did George hate him? Did they all hate him now?

“I...” he started timidly.

“Come _on_ Q, grow a pair, will you!”  Monneypenny was definitely enjoying this _too_ much. He glared at her.

When he turned back to his family, Q saw that hearing the name “Q” had a tensing effect on them. Probably because it was reminding them both of their all too recent adventure and the reason behind it.

 Q sighed and stepped forward.

“Mum, dad...” he said, his heart pounding in his chest, “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

His mum opened her mouth to reply but Q beat her to it.

“No, no, no, let me say this first, mum. Please. I... I need to do this.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look every one of them in the eye.

“I am sorry. For everything. For _lying_ to you most of all... I guess? And for what happened, of course. God, I was _so stupid_! I put all of you in so much danger just because of my plain idiocy...”

“Geoff...” His mother came to stand in front of him. Slowly, lovingly she placed a hand on his shoulder.  

“It’s alright, love,” she whispered tenderly.

Q felt a wave of relief wash through him. His eyes stung, feeling wet with unshed tears. When she extended her other hand as well and finally enveloped him in a warm hug, Q barely managed to hold himself together and not fall apart at the spot.

There might have been some sobbing involved though. Q would delete any incriminating footage later.

When they moved apart Q looked at his father and brother, both of them staring at him with uncharacteristic softness, and for the first time in what felt like years, Q found himself feeling a bit exposed and a lot more positive.

His father spoke up. “Don’t get me wrong, son, it’s a big shock for sure, but we... we understand. I know you were protecting us by keeping it all a secret...”

“No offense but you did a shit job at that, mate...” George said, pointing at his bandaged shoulder. Q blushed, feeling even guiltier. For a moment he had forgotten about George getting shot.

“None taken. And I’m glad you’re ok,” he mumbled, awkwardly.

Delilah of course, being her usual annoying self, just had to step in and ruin his almost perfect family moment.

“I always suspected you were hiding something... Didn’t I always say it, bunny? I did... But I never expected something this... outrageous.” She waved her hand in the air to demonstrate said outrageousness.

 Q just chose to ignore her, as he did most of the time. He settled on the bed, sitting between his father and brother in content. It was freeing being able to talk to his family about his real life at last. Once the initial shock had passed and what needed to be said had been said, the quartermaster found himself trying to answer as many of George’s questions as he could without any major security leaks.

It went like this:

“Is it true then? That you are head of MI6’s IT department?”

“I beg your pardon; we are _hardly_ an IT department! My branch is in charge of internet security, the national surveillance system, operation’s management, R &D both designing and developing all the elite agent equipment...”

“Wait... equipment. Do you mean guns and bombs and stuff?”

“Among others, yes. Many of which are my original designs; I’ll have you know...”  

“So all this time my kid brother was actually an elite weapon manufacturer?”

“No, I’m not! _George_ for fucks sa-”

“But you are an MI6 executive, are you not, son?”

Both heads had turned to look at their dad who had finally decided to join the talk.

“Yeah...?” Q then answered, somewhat reluctantly.  

Leonard Boothroyd had considered this for a few moments before breaking into a smile.

“And at your age, no less! I’m sure it must be a record! What do you say to that, Marge?”

After that, the conversation had gradually become more relaxed and after a brief introduction it also involved Moneypenny. Geoff was not surprised to see Eve getting along with all of them, his mum especially. Eve even had the inspired idea to order tea, so they all ended up having a nice cuppa along with their conversation.

“So you’re working in Q-branch too my dear?” 

“No, ma’am. I’m a retired field agent currently working as a PA...”

“Retired agent you say? How exciting! Though you must allow me to say, you look too young to be in retirement...”

His mum’s eyes sparkled as she talked. Talking to Eve had helped her unwind and Q admired the ease with which she had adjusted to everything. Q internally thanked God for not taking any of them that evening.

Thank God and thank James Bond as well.

Q had been too caught up in the drama that had become his family life to properly think about the fact that James Bond had not only returned to England on time after a mission-a truly shocking and rare event- but had also apparently rushed to his rescue like a proper prince charming.

Honestly, as if Q’s crush on the man hadn’t been big enough to begin with.

Speak of the devil...

“Oh, Q,” Eve said, looking all too pleased with herself, “I almost forgot. 007 will probably stop by. You know... to wish you a _pleasant_ _convalescence_...”

Before he had any chance of answering, the others asked what she was talking about.

“Oh, 007 is just a designated agent’s number. Agent 007 is actually the person who first got to you guys. I’m sure you remember him. He tends to leave a lasting impression...” Eve explained.

“You mean that incredibly hot, blue-eyed blond who took out all of the bad guys? He’s coming here?” Delilah’s voice was nearly a squeak. George glared at her, offended. 

“Hey! Nearly died here, remember? Could you not drool over some secret agent in from of your fiancé?”

Geoff tried -not so hard- to not laugh. Shots fired indeed.

 “Well either way, we’re grateful to him. I’d very much like to thank him for saving my family, Miss Eve. If 007 is his designation then what is his real name? Are we allowed to find out?” his dad asked over a biscuit.

“It’s Bond. James Bond.”

The voice that answered was not Moneypenny's. It came from the general direction of the door and was deep and oh so very recognizable to poor Q. He turned around slowly and came face to face with 007.

God... Why did he have to always look so sinfully good?

Damn him.

Bond, as if sensing Q’s thoughts, simply smirked, eyes focused solely on Q.

“I hope I’m not interrupting again, Quartermaster...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are welcome ;)


	7. Let's get back to business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which R is being the smart one, Q is freaking out and Bond is ... well he's being Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first of all I'm so sorry it took me more than a year (alright maybe two) to get back to this story! The truth is I had been away from most fandoms for a while and I just recently rejoined the fandom world. I can't make any promises how often this will be updated but I can honestly tell you that I have a good idea which way this story is going to go and I really do plan on finishing it.

“007”, Q stated calmly, despite feeling his treacherous heart skip a beat at the sight of the older man. The agent looked entirely too polished to have been trading fire with terrorists not 10 hours ago. Damned 00 superpowers.

  
Bond just hummed in response. Q cursed as his face heated under the agent’s intense lingering gaze. Bond was probably checking him for any signs of lingering injury and Q had to remind himself that it was part of 007’s job.

  
He cleared his throat.  
“007, I wanted to... That is to say I...”

  
Bond’s blue eyes seemed to have a strange effect on his speech patterns.

  
“I think what my son wants to say, Mr Bond, is thank you”, his mum finally took pity on him.

  
Geoff didn’t dare to look at his family. After all they were the ones who knew this side of him better than anyone else. This wasn’t Q thanking 007 for getting the job done. It was more.  
It was Geoffrey thanking a man he obviously had a crush on for saving his family and his own skinny behind.

  
God he would never live this down.

  
Bond’s eyes never left him as he smirked, and nodded, acknowledging with one gesture all that was said.

  
Finally, after being done being an arse and making Q uncomfortable, he turned to extend a and towards Q’s father. In a blink of an eye he had become the eerily calm professional assassin that he is.  
“My pleasure.”

* * *

 

“You geniuses sure this is all safe?” Eve asked, eyeing the battered laptop in front of her suspiciously.

  
“It should be,” a tired Danielle muttered, while furiously typing on her own computer.  
Times like these Eve hated having to stand by and watch, not being able to do anything to help. This entire situation was too close to the Silva incident for her not to feel at least a little unnerved as she let the computer experts hack into the enemy technology.

  
“There!” R exclaimed as a string of texts and codex appeared on the large monitor in front of them.

  
Eve surreptitiously glanced around, half expecting doors unlocking and hatches opening. Nothing yet.

  
“These terrorists.. Well they had hackers working for them remotely, Q told us that much. Whatever program they run they managed to almost wipe everything out of the hard drive but.... it seems we’ve been lucky enough to get this,” she finished with a satisfied grin. Eve followed her gaze to the screen.

  
There was a bid of code that seemed to rewrite itself over and over again, each time a new window popped open beside it.

  
“What is it?” she said, squinting, trying and failing to see the bigger picture.

  
Danielle looked smug.

  
“That, my dear Moneypenny, is a trail.”

* * *

 

It was close to noon and Mallory was beyond tired, having spent almost the entire night dealing with that whole Q fiasco.  
The higher ups already were having a field day ripping him a new one for the almost security breach. M’s head was still throbbing and he had yet to go through all of the reports.  
He stared at the picture in the file R had forwarded to him not five minutes ago. A light tap on the door and there she was, the woman herself coming to brief him personally.  
“Is it him?” M cut to the chase.

  
R didn’t hesitate to nod affirmatively.

  
“Trevor Gallows. Actually a UK citizen. Other known aliases Alex Simov, Adrew Lacory. Spent the entirety of the 90s at the Middle East as a mercenary. Known associate of the Chinese for the past decade, also has ties with some powerful Russian families. Guns, drugs, human trafficking, he’s had his fingers in all of it but he’s always managed to slip from authorities. He’s been wanted by us and the Interpol for the last four years, though his name isn’t on the top of the list. Also, take a look at this, sir...” she said and handed him a printed document.

  
M read with increasing interest. This guy, he’s been on their radar at least a couple of times the past year, he was a freelancer, one who dabbled in many different things as it seemed.

  
”Am I reading this correctly? You found an intact trail of IP addresses in that laptop they left behind? What makes you think it’s not a trap, R?”

  
R sighed. For the first time since she came in his office, Mallory noticed how worn out the woman looked. It was understandable of course, Q’s department was notoriously tight-knit and this one had been a direct attack at their head.

  
“Because, Sir. The Quartermaster in his report of the incident said that they knew it was him -us- behind last month’s attack in Meshkin Shahr.”

  
M’s head snapped back at her in an instant.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright mum?” Geoff asked for the hundredth time and smiled at Marge Boothroyd’s exasperated sigh.

  
“We’ll be fine, love. Your father can still work from here, and your lovely friend Eve has already notified Miss Benings at the school that I’ll be taking a leave of absence...”

  
“I know that, I just...” he hesitated. Might as well say it, you coward. “I’m sorry for ruining everything for you guys.”

  
“This again!” George groaned in the background.

  
“Geoffrey Boothroyd! For the last time, it wasn’t your fault!” At Geoff’s unconvinced look she relented.

  
“Alright, perhaps just a tiny bit but you know we’ve forgiven you, honey!”

  
“You’re an awesome spy now, honey!” George added helpfully.

  
Q’s family had just settled into the rooms M very generously provided for them in the lower levels of MI6. They were actually pretty close to Q-branch and were the safest they could get until Q was certain they wouldn’t be in any kind of danger.

  
“Go do your job, son.” His father had snuck up on him, carefully placing a calming hand on his shoulder.

  
“Go save the world little bro!”

  
“George! I’m trying to talk to you bunny! Would you stop harassing your brother and look at me?” Dalilah did not sound impressed at all.

 

“Yes, baby..."

  
Finally, Geoff left for Q-branch but not before he promised his mom to say hello to dear Mr Bond for her. Geoff was almost positive they hadn’t noticed his crimson cheeks as he made his way to the door.

* * *

 

When Q entered Q-branch it was to a standing ovation. People hugged him and everyone expressed how grateful they were for the happy outcome of such serious a situation. He settled for a nod of the head and a bashful smile-turned smirk when Bensen said what Q knew everybody was thinking.

  
“Nice attack there, boss. Had us worried for a little while.”

  
Of course they had known from the start he’d been forced to attack them, but he appreciated the compliment.

  
“Nice to know you lot can keep a decent defense when I’m not around.” Q said smugly. He looked around, finally noticing R’s absence.

  
“Where is Danielle?”

  
“She left an hour ago to meet with the big guy, boss. Has yet to return.”

  
Q knew he too would have to talk to Mallory eventually but had hoped he would have time to first see what his team had retrieved from the laptop at the scene. He went through the analysis as quickly as he could but still got called up before having time to read the whole thing. Just his luck too that it had been James Bond who had come to take him to the meeting with M.

  
“Becoming M’s errant boy, 007?” Q quipped, annoyed both at Bond and M for not letting him finish his work.

  
“And he’s back, ladies and gentlemen,” 007 almost purred and wasn’t that extremely frustrating for Q’s poor nerves.

  
“Really, Q, one would hope saving your life and the lives of all your family would get at least a week free of ironic commentary...” Bond’s tone was teasing but Q thought he heard an underlying hurt tone.  
“I did say thank you, I think...”, Q gulped, suddenly feeling exposed. He knew he owed so much to Bond- frustrating, irritating, irresistible Bond-, but he just couldn’t muster the courage to say it. Deep down Geoff knew that if he were to be sincere with 007, he’d end up revealing much more than what he was ready to admit even to himself.

  
They rest of the way to M’s office passed in a stilted silence. Q noticed absently that Bond had changed into a more casual outfit -and that he smelled fresh out of the shower but that was a path Q’s mind didn’t dare follow-.

  
They walked pass Moneypenny’s desk to find it empty. Just as they rounded the door, Q suddenly had the urge to say something to the man. Anything! Thank him, properly.

  
“Bond I...” he began but the minute Bond’s eyes shifted at him , he once again was unable to finish the sentence.

  
Had Bond come closer? He really smelled sinfully good. Q’s eyes drifted to the man’s damp hair and he completely lost track of his thoughts.

  
Bond was in his personal space, closer than any other time. And then he moved his lips over Q’s, barely not touching, and traced a path to Q’s ear.

  
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, his breath caressing Q’s lobe and sending shivers running down Q’s spine.

 

He was gone a moment later, already pass the door and into M’s office, leaving Q once more one step behind and completely breathless.

  
What had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! please review if you liked it !


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